


Undone.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Community: contrelamontre, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-04
Updated: 2003-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 09:55:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boromir could die in Aragorn's arms and count himself the most lucky of men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undone.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the contrelamontre 45 minutes open-ended challenge.

He had watched Aragorn for two weeks now. Watched the way the man's body moved, fought, rested. Watched the way he spoke, the way his eyes flashed when he was angry. Watched the way he was protective of any and all things belonging to him. Gondor. Arnor. The woods. Even Frodo. The Ring, too, of course. From Isildur to Aragorn, his by right. Weregild for his ancestors, the price of a king's life.

The price of Boromir's life.

And allegiance.

He had given the Ring to Frodo, watched as Aragorn's eyes promised him vengeance for attempting to steal what was his and freely given to a damned halfling. He had sought the sword that was broken, and found a man capable of breaking his heart with a single glance.

The crownless shall be king.

Boromir spat at that. Never his king. Never his lord. Never the one to rule his heart. He would never bow, never defer. Respect, of course, for they respected each other as warriors. They might even have been friends if Gondor had not stood between them. Because Aragorn had abandoned Gondor, and that Boromir could never forgive.

"You could have been king since my birth. The kingdom could have risen again. And you would have been my lord," Boromir whispered, night closing around him, encompassing his fears. Second watch was the hardest watch of the night, but Boromir could find no rest in these dark places. And nor could his heart find any peace.

For deny it as he might, he was drawn to his prince. There was something about the man, the way he walked, the way he talked, the way he defended what was his. And Boromir wished to be his. To be Aragorn's, completely and willingly. To freely give his heart, his body, his soul, into another's hands and know it would be safe. 'Command me in all things, command me in this', and the Stewardship would be broken and returned to the man who deserved it most. And Boromir would be free to be owned.

But.

But Aragorn gave no sign of interest. Gave no sign that he wanted Boromir's fealty. Gave no sign that he was finally interested in ruling Gondor. He wished to marry, and for that he would be king, but he had no wish in the White City. He had no desire to live among men once more.

There is no strength in Gondor...

Boromir shut his eyes against the haunting words. Few times had he seen the future or received the sight that Faramir was so known for. That his father was known for. But the words rang true, and he would know that voice until the time of his death. Aragorn.

ARAGORN!

The mines were quiet around him, steady dripping of water beneath somewhere, the rumble of the very depths of the earth, but otherwise quiet. Hobbits in a pile, Gandalf alone, Legolas comforting Gimli in ways Boromir refused to think about. Looking at the two of them, so happy despite their differences...

And he wouldn't think of Aragorn. Not like that. He couldn't. Aragorn - perfect Aragorn - king of men. What use is there for a steward at the return of the king?

What use is there for a steward?

'Command me in all things', but it wasn't his voice who would say the words. It wasn't he who would surrender the office of Ruling Steward to take upon him again the mantle of chief advisor. It wasn't he who would kneel.

Command me in this.

Nor was it his father, for Denethor would fall upon his own funeral pyre before swearing his life to another. And so Faramir would do what they all could not. He would place his life in Aragorn's healing hands, take his place at Aragorn's right hand. He would stand for Gondor at the wedding, look on and pronounce the match fitting. He would preside at the naming festival and watch the royal heir grow. He would see generations go by, would stand as tutor to Aragorn's children. Faramir...

Faramir would have what Boromir never could.

His heart had always been his undoing. Even now it rebelled at the thought of his little brother having everything he held dear. Even now...

Even now.

Even now Boromir itched to crawl over to Aragorn, sleeping so soundly in the knowledge of safety. Itched to crawl up to his king and sleep at his feet. To place his neck under Narsil, to kneel in obeisance until morning. To take his king for his own and let Faramir have nothing. Nothing.

And Aragorn would be his.

He would be his.

All the looks, all the smiles, all the quiet talks in the dark of night. All the glances, small touches, and so much more than respect. Aragorn would love him, cherish him, prize him above all things. Love him more than Gondor. Than Arnor.

Than Arwen Evenstar.

Oh, foolish child. To compare yourself with the ageless, to the deathless, to those not born to die. To grasp at the love of a king, knowing it will never, ever be yours.

To cry in the night, so they can't see your tears.

To feel the insatiable urge to own, to be owned, to find perfection in Aragorn's arms. To be king's bauble, paraded before guests. Safe in love. Safe in love.

Command me in all things, son of Arathorn. But most of all, command me in this. Tell me what to do when my heart aches at night for the lack of you, for the lack of your regard. When your friendship isn't enough, can never be enough, for what I want from you. Tell me...tell me how to love you.

Tell me how to cry.

Tell me how to lift myself up beyond these petty lacks and show you how much more there is to Gondor than fighting and death. I am Gondor, son of Arathorn. I am Gondor, and there is so much more to me than fighting, and death.

Yet I would die in your arms and count myself the most blessed of men.

For you make me come undone.

Command me in this.

Boromir felt the first tears begin to fall, clean hot streaks of pain against his cheeks. Aragorn unmanned him. Aragorn...

Aragorn.

He wasn't sure if he mumbled the name or simply screamed it. Wasn't sure if the name was a blessing or a prayer, or a cry to the Valar to please, spare him this. Spare him the pain of rejection, the pain of watching and knowing. Knowing it could never, ever be his.

Wasn't sure if he meant to wake the depths of the earth with his pain and shattering heart, and the way his life spiraled downward into his undoing. Wasn't sure if in Gondor they could hear his pain, like a blast from a war horn, like the end of an age.

Like a steward kneeling at last before his rightful king and surrendering his life, freely, and without question. Like the way Aragorn walked, talked. Like the way he could never have him. Anduin rushing forever toward the sea could never unite those not meant to be.

And he wasn't meant to be.

He could feel his life cease to be, could feel vitality strain at its leash. Could feel his age upon himself, knowing he looked but a year younger than his king.

Come what may, he would die before his king, and count it a blessing if only Aragorn would look at him, talk to him, hold him in his heart. If only it was Aragorn's hand on his shoulder, leading him to bed, leading him home.

If only it was Aragorn who tucked him under his bedroll and kissed his head and whispered words of comfort before taking up the rest of the watch.

If only.


End file.
